New Food: Chicken Livers and Frog Legs

G and I have been watching episodes of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. In this show he travels worldwide and hits off the beaten track restaurants and markets; in L.A. he eschews the Hollywood stars for ethnic fare in little Thailand, in Northern Ireland he shares pints with two tour guides-- one Protestant and one Catholic-- with the idea that good food and drink will unite all. We recently watched an episode set in Miami (no South Beach, but instead a visit to a Haitian shaman and a tour of various immigrant neighborhoods) where he spent one evening frog hunting in a nearby swampy area. The frogs he and his guide caught were taken to a nearby shack and skinned and the legs fried. This guy will eat anything!
G has been inspired by Bourdain's bold gastronomy and has recently prepared items new to me. One day on my way home he called and said, "you're going to have part of a chicken you've never had before." The beak? The feet? I was a little nervous. He prepared chicken livers, saying, "they were the most inexpensive item in the meat section at the grocery store- we could have them all the time!". Uh huh. I categorize chicken livers in the same category as brussels sprouts-- something enjoyed by an older generation who lived through the Depression. I did try them and was not completely disgusted-- they had a dense, chalky and rich taste which I felt couldn't be good for me in great quantities. They aren't something I'd crave, but if I had to eat them again, I would.
The following week G roasted a chicken-- somewhat of his specialty-- and instead of throwing out the giblets, declared he would find a recipe to use them. I said I only knew about giblet gravy and didn't know anyone who actually cooked even that (again, see Depression Era folks). In the end, they sat in the fridge a few days while he was compiling his research and he decided they weren't worth it, so threw them out.
Last week we tried a small Brazilian restaurant in Cambridge. As I was perusing the menu, I saw the appetizer of friend frog legs and jokingly pointed it out to G. He said we should try it and I demurred. Then the owner of the restaurant himself came to our table to take our order. G asked about the frog legs ("How fresh are they? Where do they come from?" "As fresh as can be and they come from perhaps Costa Rica.") and then said while he would be willing to try them, his girlfriend did not. Shamed in front of the owner, I told G just to go ahead and get them. When they arrived, fried golden like chicken, I tried not to think of what they actually were. G encouraged me by telling me that Anthony Bourdain would be proud. I bit in like a chicken wing and, voila! What did they taste like? Actually, not unlike chicken!